The Death of Chaos (60 page)

FOR SEVERAL DAYS, nothing out of the ordinary happened, thank darkness, except that Krystal and I talked and spent time together, when she wasn't meeting or strategizing. I went back to working with her trainees with the staff. That way, I could at least look over at her occasionally. Sometimes, I even caught her looking at me. We tried not to laugh.

   That morning, three days after our “rediscovery,” I was looking out the window, just after sunrise. Krystal was still asleep, curled up on my side of the bed. I'd stayed in bed for a time, but I was stiff, perhaps from more exercise, or from the age I hadn't wanted, and I'd needed to get up, but I hadn't wanted to wake her. She seemed tired, and I wanted to let her sleep.

   The coolness hadn't lasted, but the morning didn't seem quite so warm, a sign that fall was approaching. Out in the bay, I saw several fishing boats, but nothing large, certainly no warships or traders.

   I turned and watched Krystal, and she smiled in sleep as if she could feel my gaze and my affection, and I wanted to reach out and touch her, but I didn't, instead turning back to the window.

   While I could not be sure, it seemed as though the chaos that underlay Candar had swelled slightly, although it was hard to sense that with the continual rumbling and groaning that I seemed to feel all the time.

   The fishing boats disappeared behind hills that marked the southwest side of the bay, and the sun lifted the shadows of the eastern hills from the waters, and Krystal slept.

   How long I watched, I didn't really know.

   “You should have gotten me up.” Krystal bolted upright. “I'll be late.”

   “You needed the sleep, and I was stiff.”

   “That's strange. For a while, I was dreaming that my back had been hurt.”

   “I wonder-”

   “-if we're beginning to sense what...”

   “Probably,” I said. “At least, we won't have to guess.” I bent over and hugged her.

   “I really do have to get dressed.”

   We dressed and hurried down to the dining hall-I didn't even make the bed-and wolfed down bread and cheese with water.

   After my session of sparring with the troopers, while Krystal went off to meet with Yelena and Subrella, I collected my tools, commandeered part of a keg of nails, and wandered down on the waterfront and to the chandlery, where I tied Gairloch.

   The roof beams were in place, and they were nailing down stringers, or whatever the boards are called that hold the beams together that the roof tiles are laid on. The stringers had been cut down and shaped from the pile of debris that included everything from pier planks to splintered doors and other unrecognizable chunks and lengths of wood. One ship had arrived with lumber, trying to sell it at three times the normal price. The autarch had bought the cargo and resold it at normal prices.

   “Could I help?”

   “Got no coins,” admitted the curly-haired man who was wrestling with a roof timber.

   I shook my head. “The autarch sent me down.” I looked at the heavy timber. “I'm more of a crafter. I could put those windows back together. You'd have to get a glazier, but I could set the frames right.”

   “The autarch sent you? Right.”

   I spread my hands. “Look. I'm not asking for anything. I don't want anything. She's feeding me and paying me. My job is to help get the waterfront back together.”

   “Why?” asked a balding fellow, still young.

   “She told me-well, she didn't, a woman by the name of Krystal did-that the sooner the port was rebuilt, the sooner she'd get customs duties and trade. But I'm not a stone mason or a carpenter.”

   The two looked at each other. The older one shrugged. “All right. What would you do to fix that?” He pointed to the crumpled frame that was half torn from the bricks.

   I studied it for a moment.“Most of the sections are all right, except for the bottom line, and the brace. I could cut a piece from one of the short ones there, brace it with those... it'd probably be better if I took it out and rebuilt it.”

   “Where?”

   “Right here.”

   “Go ahead.”

   So I did. The mitre cuts weren't what I could have done in my shop, but the wood was mostly pine and fir, and it cut easily. The first frame was quick. The second was trickier, because one of the side sections was splintered where I hadn't seen it at first. So when I got to replacing it, I had to chisel grooves for the glazier. I also had to use nails, but trying to dovetail everything would have taken forever.

   “Neat work, fellow.” A white-bearded man wiped his forehead. He had been mortaring back the front wall of the dry-goods store. “Don't recall you.”

   “I came from Kyphrien,” I admitted.

   “You help me next?”

   “If I can. Can only commit to one job at a time, and I could get called away anytime.”

   “Well., .if you can?”

   I nodded, because I had to concentrate on the grooving. The white-haired man wiped his forehead again. “Awful mess. Terrible price to pay... just terrible... but better that than having the sundevils here.”

   “Sometimes you wonder.” I finished the first groove and began the second so that when I slipped the replacement piece in place, held mostly with dovetails, the grooves for the glass would line up. The woods wouldn't match, because I was working with an aged piece of something like cedar, and the original frame had been pine, but it would be painted or whitewashed anyway.

   “Don't wonder at all. My grandfather jumped ship, and you jump ship on an imperial ship, right over the side at sea. Otherwise they send guards after you and quarter you right on the pier. He pretended he couldn't swim, and they left him. Almost didn't make it, but he did, and that's why I'm here.” He shook his head. “Anyplace bad enough that people have to jump into the ocean... don't want to live there, and don't want them telling me how to live.” He wiped his damp forehead again. “Need to be getting back to work. Bricks don't put themselves back in place. Didn't catch your name, young fellow.”

   “Lerris. ”I'd started on rebuilding the third frame, since I'd need help putting the first two back in place, both with wedges, and then reframing.

   “Lerris? That's not a Kyphran name.”

   “No,” I admitted. “You a carpenter?”

   “Net really. I'm a crafter. I do pieces like desks, chairs, tables... but I was here and thought I'd help while I could.”

   “You said...”

   Both of the men on the roof were listening now. I shrugged. “I'm not good at telling partial truths. If it helps any, I'm the consort of the commander. I am a woodcrafter.”

   The white-haired man stared at me. “You wouldn't be the one who's a mage, would you?”

   “I've been called that, but I am a crafter.”

   “Goodsa, stop bothering him,” called the curly-haired man. “I don't give a frig where he came from. He's put two frames back together that it would've taken me all day.”

   Goodsa humphed and wandered back to his mortaring, but he kept glancing at me.

   A while later, near midday, the darker-haired man climbed down from the roof for a drink from his water bottle.

   “That true, about being a mage?”

   “Yes. Order-mage.” I was sweating heavily, and trying to finish the last section of the front frames.

   “Why couldn't you use magic to put this back together?” I laughed. “It wouldn't work. When something like a storm mangles this, it's like chaos. The best defense against chaos is good crafting. Besides, I can't do that kind of magic, and if I could you wouldn't want it, because if anything happened to me, it would fall apart. Good crafting doesn't.”

   He nodded.

   “Light! Look at that.” The curly-headed chandler pointed toward the harbor.

   I turned and looked. A low black ship had appeared, as if from nowhere, at the stone pier, a ship of black steel and a raked appearance, and one that made the big steel ships of Hamor look clumsy.

   I knew that ship, had known it from my dangergeld training, but had not known what it represented.

   As I watched, a flag unfurled, the black ryall on the white background fluttering in the wind. A dozen marines in black stood loosely in order on the deck as if waiting.

   “The black devils...”

   “... don't know as which be worse, them or the sun-devils...”

   “... our luck to be caught 'twixt 'em.”

   I asked the dark-haired man, “Can you help me wedge the frames in place? I can't do it alone, and I'm going to have to leave pretty soon.”

   He looked from me to the ship. “Sure... I guess. That ship mean more trouble?”

   I nodded. “But not for Kyphros, at least not now.”

   “Not ever, I hope.”

   “Me, too.” But I didn't know.

   It didn't take that long to wedge the three frames in place, but I took a little while longer to shape and put the front pieces in place. The work was rougher than I would have liked, but the windows were back in place, anyway.

   I wiped my forehead and began to pack up the tools.

   “You're just leaving?” asked the curly-haired man.

   “I'm sorry. I wish I could have done more.”

   “That'd take me days.” He looked from me to the windows. “You sure you don't want anything?”

   I shook my head. “I wish I could have done more.” That was getting to be the way I felt about everything. I closed the bags and untied Gairloch. “Good luck.”

   “Mage or not, you're all right.” He looked up at the other man. “We still might have it back together by end day.”

   “Not if you don't get back up here.”

   I left them talking and rushed Gairloch back to the barracks at a fast trot. I unsaddled and brushed him quickly, then hurried to the washroom.

   “Where were you?” asked Tamra as she burst into the washroom as I was splashing off grime and sweat.

   “Down on the waterfront, helping some folks rebuild their chandlery.” I wiped my face.

   “Your father and Krystal are looking for you.”

   “I'll be right there.” I stopped. “Where?”

   “In the small dining hall. I'll tell them you'll be there.”

   Dayala, Justen, Tamra, and Krystal stood around my father, who held a flat envelope in his hands.

   “I'm sorry,” I apologized. “I was out of the barracks, but I came as soon as I could after I saw the ship.”

   “This letter was addressed to me here,” began my father. “By the Black Council.” He looked around the dining hall. “Hamor has begun to assemble a grand fleet and appears to be readying for an attack on Nylan and Recluce. The Council has indirectly requested that I enlist whatever help I can and return to Recluce.”

   “We don't have many troopers to spare,” pointed out Krystal.

   “I believe that the Council is hoping that Justen can repeat his feats of the past and present, and that Tamra and I will raise more storms, and that Lerris will use order to call chaos to the defense of Recluce.”

   Tamra opened her mouth and then closed it. She was pale.

   I looked at my father, and he handed me the letter. The gist of the request lay in a few words near the end, after all the flowery phrases.

   While we cannot request that you return to Candar and assist us in the defense of order, the Council would deeply appreciate it if you, and all those you could enlist, such as the mage Justen, and Lerris and Tamra, would consider returning to defend the last bastion of order against the onslaught of the dark ships of Hamor...

   “You don't have to go. Nor does Tamra,” he said. “Neither Recluce, nor I, have been kind to you.”

   I looked at him, at the age and strain in his face, and wondered how I could have thought he did not care.

   “It doesn't matter,” I finally said, and I realized that the past did not matter. For all of Recluce's faults, for all of my father's mistakes-and I had begun to wonder if they had really been mistakes-there was little real choice. If Recluce did not defeat Hamor, then Kyphros would fall, and all the good that Kasee and Krystal had done would be lost.

   Then, too, Recluce had meddled in Candar, usually to remove truly evil rulers, and Justen had done what he could. No... it hadn't acted perfectly, or even well, at times, and sometimes Recluce had failed to act... but compared to what else I had seen... there wasn't that much choice.

   I turned to Krystal. “What do you think?”

   “You're right, and I'm going,” Krystal said.

   “Is that a good idea?” I didn't really want her hurt, and yet I didn't want to leave her.

   “I feel the same way, and,” she added softly, “from here on, we both live, or we both die.”

   It could have been my imagination, but I felt her confusion and conflict as strongly as my own, and I reached out and touched her hand-only to discover the feelings were even stronger. We just looked at each other.

   The dining hall was silent.

   “If we win,” Krystal said quickly, and with my hand in hers, I could feel her passion, “then Kasee has no real problems. If we lose, nothing can stop Hamor.”

   “Nothing?” asked Tamra, turning to Justen.

   Krystal leaned over and whispered to me, “I love you. The first thing you did for me almost killed you. The second aged you more than ten years. I'm not leaving you alone a third time.” She paused for a moment and then glared at me and spoke in a normal tone. “Even your father understands. He wanted me here.” Then I got a smile, if only briefly. “You're not the only one who gets to be a hero.”

   After another short silence, Tamra spoke.“Just how are we going to get to Recluce?”

   My father cleared his throat, and the mutterings died down. “I asked the captain if he could transport us, but he didn't seem that keen on it. He did say that the Council had already chartered a Nordlan ship to port here and take us back.”

   “Still fearful, after all these years,” snorted Justen, “as if I couldn't diagram the whole Dylyss from memory. None of the black ships have changed that much.”

   Sometimes, it was hard to believe that Justen had been a black engineer, especially when he seemed more like a grouchy uncle than a mage or someone who had built black warships. Yet he had engineered the devices that had destroyed Fairhaven, devices that no one yet had duplicated, for which I was most grateful, and yet those were accomplishments I never would have thought of when I had met him in an inn in Howlett.